


mrs & mrs sato

by awkwardwritersyndrome



Series: Korrasami Week 2020 [5]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Blood and Violence, Bombs, F/F, Guns, Korrasami Week, Korrasami Week Day Five, this took too long for me to hate it this much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26569792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardwritersyndrome/pseuds/awkwardwritersyndrome
Summary: Prompt: auAsami and Korra are trapped in a dying marriage. When they discover that they're both assassins, things get very interesting.
Relationships: Korra & Asami Sato, Korra/Asami Sato
Series: Korrasami Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922785
Comments: 20
Kudos: 111





	mrs & mrs sato

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the Mr. & Mrs. Smith universe, where Korra is akin to John Smith and Asami is Jane Smith.

Something about the therapist’s office is subtly sterile. The walls are a dull grayish blue color, all the furniture is upholstered in olive green and burnt orange velvets, and the giant bookshelf is a dark stained wood. It’s far from the beige expanse of the doctors’ office but it’s just as cold. Perhaps it isn’t the decor, or the lighting, or the layout that makes it an unsettling place to be. Maybe it’s the conversations that have stained the walls, sullied the cushions, and made a home of the space. How many couples have sat in the same two armchairs and detailed the slow decay of their union? Their stories lingered still, haunting those that followed.

“Asami, how does it make you feel when Korra makes jokes at dinner parties?” Dr. Tenzin’s voice is a soothing low register. It’s the only therapeutic thing about couple’s therapy. The recounting of bad nights and hurt feelings just agitates old wounds, begetting more bad nights and more hurt feelings.

“I wouldn’t call them jokes,” Asami starts, sighing at the subtle wording she’s made to use. “They’re more like crude observations.”

“If the guy’s a duntz, I’m obligated to say that. Who am I to lie,” Korra asks rhetorically. She feels like these sessions always come back to her unwillingness to play nice with their uppity neighbors. Craig’s an attorney. Lori’s the school district superintendent. Mike owns the local Mercedes Benz dealership and three others across town. Wealth and personality were inversely correlated in their suburb. Korra wasn’t sure she would survive another 4:30PM dinner party, at a drab two story home, with repulsively bland guests. 

“You call him a duntz and then I’m kissing his wife’s ass all night to make sure we don’t get anymore notices from the homeowners association about the lawn.”

“I’m not going to mow the lawn twice a week to please these power-hungry idiots looking for any reason to fine us.” Korra’s voice is getting a bit loud. Tenzin glances at his watch and internally cheers.

“I want you all to take some time to really reflect on how you make each other happy. It seems you’ve lost sight of that along the way.” His eyes dance back and forth between their contemplative faces. Years of practice have taught Tenzin how to spot two people who’ve fallen out of love. The Sato’s were an active case study on the subject.

Romance found a swift death when Korra and Asami bought a house and got married. What began as a thrilling affair, a series of late nights and scandalous hook-ups, dulled over time. Their lives were an endless routine of domestic toiling. The lingerie turned into flannels. The sports cars were traded in for sedans. The unexpected raunchy sex was a distant memory, now they scheduled their romps ahead of time.

As they left the office, headed to separate vehicles to return to their respective jobs, they didn’t say a word. Asami eyed the finely pressed creases in Korra’s suit out the corner of her eye, hoping to find someone recognizable. The woman she met at a low budget carnival just outside LA was adventurous and gritty. That night Korra had worn a tank top and high waist denim, her ass sat so perfectly. That version of Korra would have never worn suits, not for any job or any reason. She was free, and bold, and confident once upon a time.

Korra kept her hands busy adjusting her necktie as they walked in silence. She never knew what to say when they left sessions. What could be said about all the dirty secrets they never shared but knew existed?

* * *

“Eddie, please tell me we’ve got something good today,” Korra groans. She plops down on the rickety office chair in the construction trailer. The rectangular tin building is small and looks more like a shipping container than an office. It’s the perfect disguise for the covert mercenary operation she’s running with her friend, Eddie. 

“I’ve got just the thing for the cranky wife blues. French Canadian usurper, moving military grade weapons through the wetlands, destabilizing foreign governments by arming militias.” A stack of files are dropped on the desk with a thud. Korra pulls off her tie and grabs the papers, scanning through the pages marked with red tabs. The only excitement she ever has is hunting down war criminals and terrorists. Her favorite tool of the trade is an MK23, closely followed by her Ka-Bar knife. Other professionals in the field had updated their tactics to include inconspicuous poisons and long range digital sniping. But the technology really took the personal touch out of the work in Korra’s opinion. _Giving a person the dignity of looking their assassin in the eyes_ was her rule of thumb. A killer had to have _some_ morals.

Korra waves Eddie over to the backside of the desk. They work together to push it a few feet forward, revealing a staircase that leads to a modernized control room. “Let’s get suited up and roll out. I need a win today.”

* * *

Asami’s Manolo Blahnik’s click across the polished tiles of her office building. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Sato. Jasmine left a message for you.”

“Thank you,” she says with a smile. She opens the small card as she rides the elevator up to the 26th floor. _New target. French Canadian, heavily armed, top priority for the UN_. Asami closes her eyes and takes a deep steadying breath. Finally something to take her mind off her broken home life. An easy kill is what she really needed. 

When the elevator door opens all eyes converge on the senior consultant. “Afternoon,” “great to see you,” “they’re ready for you.” The greetings rain in respectfully and in an orderly fashion. The agency is a well-run high tech juggernaut. If there are competitors, Asami and her team know nothing about them.

She pushes through heavy glass double doors into her executive office. The far wall is completely made of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sprawling cityscape. “Ladies,” she calls out to her intel expert, Jasmine, and her weapons specialist, Gwen. “Let’s make a really clear plan on this one. I want to be in and out without a sound.”

The trio get to work locating their charge, coordinating a rendezvous, and making plans to procure the high power rifle they’ll need to hit a moving target 300 feet out. It all comes together seamlessly, as it always does, because Asami has meticulously chosen these women to help her do her job, and do it well. After being together for 10 years, there wasn’t a commission they couldn’t conquer. 

* * *

The roar of Korra’s ATV wakes up the desert all around her. Fitted with dark aviator glasses and a camouflage bandana across her face, she’s speeding towards a drop point at the base of Mount Whitney. Denton Moreau will be refueling there in t-minus 5 minutes. The plan is to arrive early, set up 100 feet away, and send a rocket into his black armored SUV. Simple plan. No more bad guy.

About one city block south of the fuel stop is Asami’s campsite. She has a tent setup with all her tech in place, fully prepared for plan A, B, and C. Organization and preparation were the foundations of her work. Sometimes it seemed robotic and despondent, but that was a necessary pitfall to keep from going mad. Taking a life was an extremely difficult thing for most people to do. Every kill chips away at the soul, leaving emptiness behind. Asami wasn’t sure if she had much of a soul left. When she met Korra she felt more alive than ever before, but that feeling had faded, the heat of their love had turned into a bitter coldness in her heart. Maybe all the blood on her hands had done irreparable damage. Could a soulless woman really love at all?

A short distance away, Korra was soaking in the force of the wind against her face. It hurt in the best kind of way. Pain had become her escape from monotony, offering a fleeting type of freedom. What had her life come to? Marriage wasn’t supposed to be carceral, but she felt like a caged animal, broken in and broken down. For all the joy Asami brought to her life, there was a litany of issues to go along with it, all revolving around secrecy. The lies had become a prison, but there was no way for Korra to tell the woman of her dreams that she was a killer, unfazed by the burden of homicide. All people die, and she was a humble servant of death, happy to usher the worst type of people to hell. In the beginning, her reckless indifference for life was exhilarating, inspiring great adventures and passionate nights. Now it was kindling for the raging fire burning down their life.

Korra’s own thoughts were loud enough to drown out Eddie’s voice in her ear, so he had to repeat himself loudly. “Hey boss, we’ve got a big problem.” 

She blinks back to reality. “What’s happening?”

“We’ve got company, just past the drop, looks more like a robotics lab than a kill guy, but they’re packing heat.”

“Today keeps getting better,” Korra jests with a chuckle. She pulls to the side of the road and unloads a rocket launcher. A nearby boulder serves as good cover and a vantage point. Korra lays flat on her stomach and searches the distant desert plain for her new target. “Help me out here, Eddie. Where’s my guy?”

“About 25° degrees southwest of you...right...there!” 

Through the scope of her weapon Korra can see a figure dressed in all black moving around under a tent. There’s dozens of cords and cables and monitors setup, almost like a mobile headquarters. She thinks, _if this dude didn’t have to die, I’d be pretty impressed._

* * *

“Get out. Code blue. We’ve been compromised,” Jasmine yells into Asami’s earpiece. 

“What? Son of a bitch,” Asami complains. “ETA?”

“Less than thirty seconds. Move!” 

Asami scrambles to grab her rifle and a her satellite phone before diving for cover. She violently rolls down a gravelly hill as a rocket blows her camp to hell. “Jasmine, maybe give me a little more notice next time,” she pans between labored breaths. Her heart rate hasn’t changed much but she’s fired up. “I want an ID. _Now_.”

As she claws her way back up the hill, clothes sandy and tattered, Jessica goes silent. All Asami can hear is muffled breathing. “Hello?”

“Erm...yeah I’m here. I don’t think you’re going to believe this one.”

Now Asami’s annoyed. Her cover is blown, her mission is screwed, and her right hand woman is being coy. “Are you going to tell me before or after I blow his brains out?”

“No!” Jasmine panics, conflicted by the information on her screen. “It’s Korra!”

Asami slams her rifle down on the ground and scopes out the roadway where the attack came from. “They’ve got Korra? How is that—”

“No, Sami, they don’t _have_ Korra. The shooter _is_ Korra.” And just as the words sounded in her ears, her wife came into view, packing an outdated bazooka into an ATV. 

“Oh my God,” is all Asami could manage to say. Her body froze as her mind glitched. This wasn’t possible. How could this be?

“Sami, What’s our plan here?” Jasmine asked, fearful of what the answer might be. Her fears were quickly confirmed as two shots rang out through the speaker. “Sami?!”

“Fuck,” she grumbled. “I missed.”

“You missed? You...never miss,” Jasmine notes cautiously. 

Korra swerved at the sound of bullets, eyes wide, head ducking. Eddie was screaming in her ear about something she wouldn’t believe, mayday mayday, generalized panic. It was all a blur. She found an enclave between a few rock formations and whipped the ATV out of sight. Using the binoculars that were clipped to her waist, she sought out the man bold enough to survive her attack. When she saw who it was blood vanished from her face. She was absolutely mortified. It was her wife standing amidst the blasted ruble. “Asami?!”

* * *

Asami is switching lanes like she’s in a high speed chase, and it’s unclear if she’s the one running or the one in pursuit. Jasmine is briefing her about Korra’s kill-for-hire business through the car’s sound system. The familiar voice is all around her but it’s difficult to hear. There’s a ringing in her ears, the shrill sound of her life coming undone. Her wife was an assassin, they had tried to kill each other, and they were both headed to their $400,000 home in a quiet suburb. _What the fuck?_

Korra took the back roads home in the company McLaren, doing just over 100mph, all of outside blurring into streaks of light. Eddie is still rambling on the phone about how their marriage was just a decade long sting operation, conspiracy after conspiracy. Eventually, Korra hangs up without warning and focuses on the intensifying headache behind her right eye. She can't decide if she believed him or not, if the lies were much deeper and deadlier than she had ever imagined. How could she have been stupid enough to let her fiercest enemy into her life and into her heart.

* * *

Asami knows Korra is already in the house from the knocked over mailbox and the $200,000 car in the driveway. She parks her sedan on the street and jogs across the lawn with her head low, expecting gunfire at any moment. The front door is ajar, an obvious trap, so she sneaks in through a basement window. As she creeps up the steps to the kitchen, Korra pushes the fire mantel to the side to access a hidden panel of guns. She grabs three glocks and strategically sticks them in her clothing. There’s ammo for her to reload in three different rooms, a zipline running parallel with the phone lines for a quick getaway, and some smoke bombs in the garage. Stealth was never her strong suit but it’s necessary in such a predicament. 

The microwave buttons double as a keypad for a safe full of throwing knives concealed under the stove. Asami grabs her favorites and a sheath that straps onto her thigh. She realizes her suit jacket is limiting her range of motion, so she rips it off and hides it in a drawer. Her guns are tucked under her shoe rack in the master closet, her ammo is under the bathroom sink, and she has the laundry shoot setup for a quick out if she needs it. It’s unlikely that both spouses make it out alive, she knows this, and plans on being the wife that lives.

A loose floor panel gives away Korra’s position as she slinks toward the stairs. “Sweetie, is that you,” Asami calls out, feigning ignorance. Korra shuts her eyes, frustrated about her misstep, mustering the will to play along. “Hi honey. How— how was the rest of your day at work? Anything exciting?”

Asami pauses. _She knows._ “Nothing new. Jasmine found out that one of our partner firms has been targeting our market shares lately. Looks like we’ve been double-crossed.”

Korra’s eyes get wide. _She knows_. “That’s the worst. Always hard to take down a partner, but sometimes you have to accept those necessary evils.” She continues up the stairs to attack from a higher vantage point. Asami slides her body against the wall and inches toward her wife’s voice. “You’re right. It’s a necessary evil.”

 **Pshew**! Korra stumbled on the hallway rug and accidentally fired the gun in her ankle holster. She grits her teeth because she knows the banter is over. **Bow bow**! Two bullets came blasting through the floor. _Is she below me,_ Korra wonders. Suddenly being high up seemed like a faulty plan. 

From there, a dangerous tango ensued. Every step was deliberate and agile, gaining or conceding ground, guarding against counterattacks. Throwing knives buzzed through the air and wedged into the furniture with metallic clinks. Bullets flew in every direction, perforating the walls. The home decor shattered and snapped as they exchanged fire. Their intent to kill each other peaked with every close call they survived. The onslaught of gunfire was aimed at their relationship as much as each other. This catastrophe wouldn’t exist if they hated each other, or better yet, if they didn’t know each other at all. It was the intensity of their feelings that made this so awful. It would have been less painful for the house to just collapse around them, a swift and mutual end. Instead, they were tearing it down, piece by piece, until one of them died.

Korra unloaded a clip into the kitchen and hit the gas line. The island exploded like a box of fireworks, launching both women across the house into the dinning room. Their guns landed out of reach and the impact stunned them. It took a few moments for the curtain of blackness to fade away so they could get their bearings. Both of them stumbled to their feet and swayed unsteadily until the room stopped spinning. Asami felt a warm drop of blood running down her chin and wiped it away with her sleeve. “Did you ever love me,” she asked, voice heavy with exhaustion. 

“Did you?” Korra shot back. 

There was a flash of disappointment in Asami’s eyes. She was a planner and a detail oriented woman, she felt out of control when she didn’t know what was coming. Nothing could have ever prepared her for this, the idea that maybe Korra wasn’t the one. The sorrow was a passing emotion, quickly replaced by rage. She lunged at Korra with a swinging right hand but couldn’t land it as she was pushed out the way. 

Korra chuckled haughtily. “Gotta be a bit faster if you wanna—” **Whack**! Asami’s left hand connected with her jaw, sending her stumbling backwards.

“Shut up!”

Left hooks, roundhouse kicks, bobbing and weaving. Their bodies spun, and fell, and collided. They drew blood, and blackened skin, and punched each other in and out of consciousness. It was a brutal and unrelenting battle. Korra caught her wife in a chokehold and groaned as she tightened her elbow around Asami’s neck. The green eyed woman almost lost it but she was able to grab a broken table leg and bludgeon Korra’s head. They rolled apart, panting and hurt, their resolve waning. Blue eyes caught green in a passing glance, they exchanged scowls before searching the ground and finding their weapons. A scuffle followed, each woman trying to grab her piece and prevent the other from beating them to the draw. “Got it,” they exclaimed in unison, on their feet, face to face, staring down opposing barrels in a lethal standoff. 

The silence became deafening without the thunderous sound of shooting. The air got thick with tension. Who was going to pull the trigger first? Who was the liar and who was the fool? Asami’s jaw shivered as she strained against her conscience. She wanted it to be over, they couldn’t come back from that much betrayal, but a knot in her stomach kept her from pulling the trigger.

Korra read the internal conflict on her wife’s face, realizing that neither of them was Brutus, equally incapable of writing such a tragic end. In the chaos of their unraveling minds, they forgot to consider a third possibility, that their only failure was hiding their careers, and everything about the love they shared was real. That is hadn't all been a lie.

The blue eyed woman was done. If this was how she died, at least she had known a great love. “Don’t,” Asami cried through gritted teeth as her wife lowered her gun. “Come on!”

Korra’s gaze softened. How could she have let this happen? Visible through the cracks in her armor, the Asami that Korra fell in love with was resurfacing. She didn’t want to die, she just wanted to remember what it was she was living for. A forceful slap rid Asami of her weapon, and before she could contest Korra was kissing her.

Their lips felt electric when they met, stealing away the air. It was a hard kiss, rushed by the lingering threat of dying, emboldened by a primal attraction to danger. Two tongues got tangled between bites and licks. Hands got lost under torn shirts until their clothes were gone. Korra gripped around Asami’s carotids and held her still, their mouths inches apart, warm breaths mingling between them. The fire she saw in the eyes across from her was brilliant. She had missed that heat.

Asami didn’t resist as she was pulled back in, her mouth taken by Korra’s, a need growing in her core. She spread her legs permissively as Korra pinned her against the wall and hoisted her up, grinding her waist between Asami’s thighs. The impact of the wall stung in an exhilarating way. She raked her fingers through dark brown locs and tugged until Korra hissed. Everything hurt so good.

Korra ran her teeth down Asami’s sweaty, heaving chest and nipped at her breasts. Her nails dug into supple thighs as her wife bucked in response, pressing them unbelievably close. “Down,” Asami demanded, hands still interlocked in Korra’s hair. When the shorter woman hesitated, Asami forced her down on her knees. Korra became willfully compliant, leaning forward to slide her tongue through slick waiting folds. The salty taste of her wife only made her fervor more intense and she hummed against her clit. 

Asami threw her head back as she was licked open by a broad, attentive tongue. She laid a shaky thigh over Korra’s shoulder and rode her mouth. Moans turned into breathy screams as her pussy clenched around Korra’s pulsing tongue. An orgasm was threatening to buckle her knees when she was pulled to the ground. She found herself firmly trapped beneath Korra’s weight, staring into her eyes. She held her gaze as they both entered each other, fingers immediately soaked, fucking rhythmically in sync. Every muscle seized and trembled as they stroked each other into a climax. 

It felt quick and dirty like their first time in behind the dingy carnival rollercoaster. That night they were out in the open, vulnerable, present. And as they came down from their post-homicidal sex high they felt exactly the same. Asami reached up and brushed a damp hair out of Korra’s face to better see her soft crooked smile. She didn’t know how badly she needed to see it. 

“We’ve got some things to talk about, love.”

Korra let out a raspy giggle. “I’m sure it will be one hell of a session with Dr. Tenzin.” 


End file.
